


Oraculum

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius Malfoy in the MOM Department of Mysteries with a Prophecy Sphere</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oraculum

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** eeyore9990
> 
> Written for [HP Wankfest 2011](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/hp_wankfest/) on InsaneJournal.

> _oraculum_ — n. [a solemn utterance , oracle, divine response, prophecy]; also [the place where an oracle is given].

In all the years that Lucius had been visiting the Department of Mysteries, the entry room had never changed. It remained reasonably sized and circular. The candles continued to shine their blue light over the unadorned black surfaces; the charms in their reflected light still confounded uninvited guests, their distraction sufficient to obscure the minute runes inscribed in the upper right corner of the otherwise identical doors.

The machinery beneath the floor made a loud rumbling noise, and the room began to spin. Lucius closed his eyes to avoid the blinding effect and counted to three.

He slammed the tip of his cane against the floor, activating his wand, and said, " _Oraculum_."

The floor stopped moving. The candelabra on either side of a door flared, and the door creaked open. Lucius strode into the room. Dust puffed into the air beneath his heels, swirled around his ankles, matched him to a prophecy in the room, and let him pass. As it had done every year since his nineteenth birthday barring the ones he'd spent in Azkaban.

Pausing at the end of row ninety-seven, he tipped his head back and contemplated the ceiling far above him. Arched and ribbed, the wood and stone was elaborately carved with runes and shimmered with charms. There were more spells, he noted, than had existed when Potter and his gang of delinquents had all but demolished the room all those years ago. He couldn't imagine how long it had taken the Unspeakables to recreate the shattered spheres and their dispersed prophecies from the originals stored in the vaults below.

He began moving again, walking rapidly until he reached an empty space between two dusty glass spheres. On the shelf beneath the space was a yellowish label marked with spidery writing.

  
_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.  
Dark Lord  
and (?)Harry Potter_   


_Fulfilled_ had been scrawled diagonally across the label.

Lucius stroked the label with a gloved finger. An ache rose in his chest, and he sighed. It was over. Long over. He reached up with that same hand and picked up the sphere that sat on its own brass tripod directly over the empty space. Years of practice enabled him to do so without so much as a glance at the identifying label affixed to the shelf.

He didn't know, had never wanted to know — until now. He'd finally been freed from all marital and political entanglements.

A rap of his cane and a quickly muttered word ensured the stones were cushioned when he dropped to his knees. His cane rattled on the floor when it fell from his hand.

"My love," he murmured and brought the sphere to his lips. He tasted dust and magic. The light inside the sphere flared as it touched his bare skin, heating up and seeming to kiss him back.

Moving the sphere from hand to hand, he stripped off his gloves. Then, with infinite care, he brushed the dust off the small spun-glass orb so that he could see it clearly for the first time.

The contents were the same pearly-white as memory strands. As Lucius's finger caressed the surface, the light followed it, occasionally glancing against the inside of the glass as if to kiss his fingertip.

"Father didn't permit me to know your name," Lucius said, "even after the Unspeakables visited the Manor to notify us that a seer had spoken. He'd made arrangements with the Blacks for me to marry Narcissa, and no prophecy was to interfere with his plans."

"I had no choice." Lucius pressed the spun-glass against his sternum, almost expecting it to burn through the fabric of his shirt. Instead, it sent waves of heat through his body, arousing him and leaving a dry ache in the back of his throat.

"No choice," he repeated. The words were as close to an apology as he could bring himself to speak aloud.

His robes seemed to tighten around his throat, strangling him; he undid them and shrugged them off. The sphere warmed further in his hand, becoming almost too hot, and began to vibrate. The sound was disorienting, intoxicating, and Lucius needed to know more, to feel more.

Exercising his will, he fought to retain control, to resist the insidious humming that tempted him to clutch the sphere close and speak the words that would unlock it. To learn what his years of obedience, of delay, of mistakes had cost him.

He tried to listen to the room beyond his location, knowing he had no guarantee of solitude, but could hear nothing beyond the noise from his sphere. On rare occasions, he'd seen other people visiting the prophecies and had had to duck down a different aisle to avoid them and distract them from his true goal.

Tingling gathered beneath the sphere and began to wind its way down his chest, and he lost the battle. His shirt opened as he drew the sphere downwards, buttons slipping out of their holes, linen parting so that the glass moved over his bare skin.

He circled his navel, spinning the ball around. Desire spiked through him, and he rose to his knees. Releasing the fastenings on his skin-tight breeches, he slid his hand inside, cupped his balls, and pressed a fingertip into his perineum.

His hips curled, and the tip of his cock rubbed against the glass. A sigh escaped his lips as the sphere caught on his foreskin. He tugged and toyed with it, stretching it and releasing it, slicking the glass with precome.

Wrapping his hand around the sphere and his cock, he began to roll it up and down. He thrust into his hand, twisting and pressing. Speeding up and slowing down, he took himself to the edge, over and over again. Lost in the heat and movement and vibrations, he said — or perhaps heard someone else say — the spell he'd kept locked inside himself for so many years, " _Fatale Sphaera Adaperio_."

Lucius hung on the brink, his cock twitching with every breath. The humming coalesced into a single, glass-shattering, high note that reverberated through him. The sphere dissolved in a burst of heat. An unrecognisable figure unfurled around his hand and cock in a swirl of pearly white light and smoke. His hand jerked and pulled. His body arched, and he came as the prophecy spilled into the air around him.

He breathed in the smoke. His cock pumped his release onto the filmy seer, smearing the whispered words, leaving Lucius with only _his_ name and the knowledge of _his_ damned fate.

 _Dead_ , he mourned, bowing his head. _Too late_.

Anger, sorrow, and need blazed through him. His control shattered, and he barely had the time or the coordination to throw up a shield before shelf after shelf of spheres were bouncing off it and smashing on the stones around him.

*

As Lucius strode out of the aisle, his clothing once again immaculate, his expression cold and hard, his boots crunching on shards of glass, an Unspeakable glided out of the darkness at the far end of the room and watched him leave. A dark grey hooded cloak wreathed the Unspeakable's body and features in shadows, rendering him nearly invisible in the dim light.

When the door closed behind Lucius, Regulus Black entered the aisle. He paused for a moment, brushing his hand over a yellowed label that his great-aunt Lucretia had written — a label that marked her last vision, related shortly before her death to a man she'd mistakenly believed would make it come true.

  
_L.W.B. to A.D.M.  
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy  
and Regulus Arcturus Black_   


"Soon, my love," he said in the hoarse whisper that was all the Dark Lord's Inferi had left of his voice.

Reluctantly, he stepped away and began to take inventory of the broken spheres. He noted the prophecies that the Unspeakables had deemed vital to the Wizarding World. The ones that it was his duty to ensure were fulfilled.


End file.
